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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29162205">The Right Combination</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddagent/pseuds/ddagent'>ddagent</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Chefs, F/M, Fluff, Food, Rivalry, Valentine's Day</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:46:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,631</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29162205</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddagent/pseuds/ddagent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Chef Jaime Lannister witnesses his rival, Brienne Tarth, being broken up with on Maiden's Day. He decides revenge is a dish best served hot.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>296</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Right Combination</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, an anon prompted me, "Valentines Day Food Poisoning", which turned into food tampering, which turned into a damn oneshot. I really hope you enjoy this!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pia pushed through the kitchen door; a grave expression upon her features. “The woman at table seven is getting dumped.”</p><p>A wave of sympathy ran through the kitchen. Jaime Lannister, sautéing mushrooms in garlic butter, found his head bowing in pity. He wasn’t one for relationships – working as the head chef of his own restaurant didn’t help – but he did love <em>love. </em>The old songs, the prospect of courtship, the spark of feeling something for another that you’d never felt before... Passing the pan over to Addam, Jaime felt honour bound to offer this poor woman a bottle of wine on the house. </p><p>Dumped. <em>On Maiden’s Day. </em>What kind of wanker did that?</p><p>Leaving his kitchen in Addam’s safe hands, Jaime traversed the restaurant floor until he found table seven. A man with dull brown hair and plain features sat opposite a striking woman in a black dress. She was sat, ramrod, in her chair; as if she was desperate to put as much distance between herself and her date as possible. </p><p>Approaching, Jaime heard a line so cliche even Bronn, the valet, didn’t use it anymore. “It’s not you, Brienne, it’s me.” </p><p>“Hyle—” she began, before noticing him lingering nearby. “<em>Jaime.” </em></p><p>“Brienne.” He hadn’t expected his rival, head chef of King’s Landing’s finest seafood restaurant, to be sitting in his dining room that evening. Nor had he ever expected to see her this close to tears. “Chef Tarth, welcome to <em>Roar. </em>It’s an honour to have you here.” </p><p>Her date grew disgruntled – whether it be from the well-deserved compliments that Jaime was ladling upon Brienne or from being ignored by someone clearly more handsome than him. “Can you just take our order already?”</p><p>Brienne snorted. “This is Jaime Lannister, Hyle. He <em>owns </em>the place.” </p><p>“Guilty,” Jaime said; his jaw widening as if he wished to swallow this <em>Hyle </em>whole. “I am rather surprised to see you here, Chef Tarth. The last time we spoke, you said you wouldn’t try my food even if you were stuck behind the Wall during the Long Night.” </p><p>His remark cut deep; Brienne flushing as if caught in a cloud of steam. Jaime sagged as he realised he’d just added to what was already a difficult evening. “It was Hyle’s suggestion. He thought it would be romantic.” </p><p><em>Less likely for you to make a scene, I’d wager. </em>The wealthiest people in King’s Landing were eating here tonight. Actress Margaery Tyrell was by the fireplace; a Dornish prince was on a table for three. Jaime would bet another gold dragon that Hyle had thrown Brienne’s name around to get a table. <em>What a wanker. </em></p><p>“Your waiter will be over shortly to take your order. Have a lovely evening, Brienne. And you, Kyle.” </p><p>A slight twitch of Brienne’s lips was all Jaime needed to sure up his plan. While he and Brienne had never been <em>friends, </em>per se, <em>no one </em>deserved to get dumped in an expensive restaurant on Maiden’s Day. So, he went back into the kitchen, waited for Peck to take Brienne’s order, and took the ticket from him personally. Addam, running the pass, raised a single eyebrow in his direction. “What are you up to, Jaime?” </p><p>“Giving table seven a flavour experience they will never forget.” </p><p>For their starter, table seven had chosen the parsnip and tarragon soup; the pan-fried scallops with a pea puree and squid ink tuile. Brienne, who had grown up on the shores of Tarth, had <em>clearly </em>gone for the scallops. Wanting to impress the seafood queen of Narrow Sea, Jaime spent an inordinate amount of time ensuring the scallops were golden, the puree smooth, and the tuile vivid in colour. As for the soup, well...Jaime <em>clearly </em>chose the wrong herbs. How foolish of him. </p><p>“Taste this,” Jaime said to Addam at the pass.</p><p>His oldest friend wrinkled his nose. “Hells no. That smells like toothpaste.” </p><p>Jaime grinned. “Perfect. Peck, table seven.” </p><p>He watched as the plates were set out in front of Brienne and <em>Hyle </em>from the small window in the kitchen door<em>. </em>Brienne actually <em>smiled </em>at the sight of his plate; the vivid colours reminiscent of her own creations. Hyle cared little for food; just slid his spoon into the bowl and took a large mouthful. </p><p>And promptly spat it right back out. </p><p>“When table seven complains about their food, make them a new bowl of soup,” Jaime said. “I’ll be working on their entrees.”</p><p>He began by seasoning the steak Hyle had ordered. Using a rub mix that made his eyes water, he massaged the meat with a concoction of contradicting spices. He made sure to add the same to the potatoes. Washing his hands thoroughly, Jaime then prepared Brienne’s rack of lamb with a herb crust. <em>She ordered lamb in Winterfell, </em>he recalled; the only dinner he and Brienne had ever shared. They were at a conference together – he too disliked to have company over dinner; she too much of a woman for the boys' club to welcome her. </p><p><em>This isn’t half bad, </em>she’d said. He’d stolen the second to last bite off her plate and sat back, nodding. <em>Your palette isn’t as bad as I thought, Chef Tarth. </em></p><p>Smiling at the memory of Brienne in candlelight – the intense concentration as she savoured individual flavours on her tongue – Jaime plated her food and suddenly wished that <em>he</em> were the one joining her for dinner. Or, at the very least, be out for dinner with someone like her. None of his dates could quite understand why he took pictures of every dish when they went out; why he kept a notepad by his wine glass so he could scribble down flavour combinations.</p><p>
  <em>Would Brienne?</em>
</p><p>A commotion from the dining room drew Jaime’s attention elsewhere. Stepping out of the kitchen, he watched Hyle gasp and pant like a dog, yelling for water. One of the servers brought over a jug and Hyle chugged the entire carafe in one go. Wheezing, he slumped to his seat. </p><p>“Hyle, are you alright?” Brienne asked; her face full of too much concern for the man who had publicly dumped her on Maiden’s Day.  </p><p>Hyle shook his head; beads of sweat pooling at his temples. “Spicy. Too spicy.” </p><p>Brienne frowned. Taking a fork, she reached over and took a bite of his potatoes. Jaime swallowed, fearing the jig was up.But all she did was shrug. “Hyle, they’re <em>fine.”</em></p><p>“I’m telling you—” </p><p>“—it’s too spicy, I get it. And the soup was too minty. Will the dessert be too sweet?” Jaime <em>had </em>intended to put actual cheese in Hyle’s cheesecake. “You know, Hyle, I think we’ve made the right decision to end things. I need someone with a more sophisticated palette.” </p><p>Gasping through the pain his mouth was no doubt in, he said, “The decision we made?”</p><p>“Of course.” She patted his hand. “I think you should go home, Hyle. Don’t worry about the cheque; I’ll cover it.” </p><p>Grinning at his success in thoroughly embarrassing Hyle, Jaime headed back inside. Maiden’s Day was one of their busiest nights, and they still had plenty more plates to push out. As he busied himself at the pass, sending a relieved Addam back to the meat station, the doors to the dining room opened. He turned, not entirely surprised to see Brienne Tarth standing in his kitchen. <em>Gods </em>that dress left nothing to the imagination, did it? They should make shorts in Chef whites. </p><p>“Chef Lannister.”</p><p>“Chef Tarth.” He dabbed at his heated face with a nearby cloth. “Come to see how a real kitchen operates?” </p><p>Brienne smirked but did not rise to the bait. “I came to say thank you.”</p><p>“It was my pleasure, honestly. What a <em>wanker</em>.” They shared a warm smile at that; their mutual distaste of Hyle adding to their mutual love of food. “Anything <em>else</em> you’d like to say, Chef Tarth?” </p><p><em>Your food is spectacular, Jaime. You’re so gifted with flavours, Jaime. Would you like to eat whipped cream off my</em>—<em> “</em>I have notes. About your food.”</p><p>“I expected nothing less. You’re owed a dessert with your meal. How about I bring you out a chocolate souffle and we can go over them then?”</p><p>“Sounds...acceptable,” Brienne said; teeth toying with her bottom lip. No doubt she had expected his email address or a polite <em>Get fucked, Tarth. </em>Instead, they were sharing dessert and a bottle of wine on Maiden’s Day. “I’ll be...waiting.”  </p><p>“I’ll be over soon.” </p><p>Jaime waited until most of the restaurant was on their own dessert before he brought two plates out to Brienne. A bottle of wine was already on the table. And a small notebook lay beside her wine glass with notes on the firmness of his scallops and the flavours of his pea puree. Photographs, even, of the plating of his lamb and how the rack could create an arch over the potatoes. </p><p>“If you look at this one...” Brienne trailed off. “<em>Sorry. </em>I get a little—”</p><p>“—it’s fine,” Jaime said, pouring them both a glass of Arbor Gold. “Carry on.” </p><p>Brienne’s bemused expression suggested she had no idea <em>why</em> he was smiling through her honest critique of his food. She broke into laughter, though, when they both began sharing pictures of the most hideous dishes they’d ever been served. Her pink-stained cheeks were the ideal accompaniment to the dessert; her company the perfect end to an imperfect day. And like the wine on his lips, Brienne lingered until the lights were off and the door was closed. </p><p>The next morning, Jaime texted Brienne a picture of two of his toast soldiers creating an arch over his soft-boiled egg. His next text was to Tyrion, to schedule the evening off for next Maiden’s Day. </p><p>Jaime had a feeling he might have other plans. </p>
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